


two am

by rockthecliche



Series: 64 Times Coliver Insisted on Happening [1]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: AU, M/M, mentions of rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockthecliche/pseuds/rockthecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jangling alarms and the sound of poker chips falling ain't got nothing on the way Oliver laughs.</p>
<p>AKA the pseudo-casino heist fic that no one really asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two am

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic for htgawm fandom, as well as connor/oliver, so i don't know blame connor's damn smirk and oliver's friggin' face okay
> 
> additional stuff at the end!

A crowd erupts to his left and Connor snaps his attention towards the noise, eyes falling onto a rather packed poker table down the way. There's more people than he thought there would be for the middle of the night, which is why he and Wes chose to case the casino then to begin with, but it isn't as if they're doing anything illegal.

Well, yet.

Connor's feet pulls him in the direction of the ruckus, figuring that a short pitstop won't hurt, really. They have days to prepare, and a few seconds won't push them behind schedule.

What looks to be a normal poker game soon gives way to something far more extraordinary. Connor has seen his fair share of people counting cards before, even delved in it himself from time to time when he was bored during a heist, but the finesse the man is doing it with far exceeds the show. For a brief moment Connor is sad for him; the idiots around him have no idea what's going on and Connor never understood why people should bother putting their talents on display to those who would never be able to appreciate them. Connor can categorically say that while he can appreciate the man's gifts, it's clear the others can't.

He stands across from the poker table and watches the charade go on, studying the man instead of the game. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs at something one of his tablemates is saying, a laugh that falls _just_ this side of giddy paired with a smile that lights up his whole face and Connor is positive he is staring. He actually needs to take a moment to steel himself and not be utterly distracted but it's difficult. The man's sure snaps and confidence oozes out of him, surrounding them all in its infectiousness, and Connor lets a small smirk form on his lips as the next hand is dealt.

The light on the man's glasses shift and Connor catches his eye. He goes hot around the collar but manages his usual smirk after a few seconds and, to his surprise, the man blushes, starting from the tips of his ears fading out to his cheeks, and Connor, the opportunist that he is, takes advantage of this reaction the moment the man stands up and the crowd disperses, the game done for the night. Connor tries not to be too pleased that the first thing the man does when he approaches him is to ask if he wants to get a drink, but it's an entirely new feeling, this -- this being _impressed_ by someone.

What he expects is an easy enough conversation, his natural charm and swagger usually doing most of the work for him, but he soon realizes that Oliver is not the type of guy Connor actually wants to do that to. Oliver looks like a daydream with his nerdy glasses and bright smile, and talking with Oliver is _natural_ , it's natural and full of dumb poker jokes and math and _easy_ , which is in a completely other ballpark from his usual conquests.

Connor Walsh actually wants to talk to someone first before fucking their brains out. Call the damn press.

But what makes Connor completely cave is the sheer and utter disbelief on Oliver's face when Connor leans close, close enough to catch a faint whiff of the other's cologne, and invites the other back to his hotel room with a whisper. Oliver's eyes go wide with surprise behind his lenses, a dumbstruck giggle escapes his lips and he can barely squeak out an, "Are you being for real?" before Connor slips an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

It's insanely cute, really, how the confidence Oliver had while sitting behind a poker table can melt away in an instant. Usually it doesn't do anything for Connor -- it tends to annoy him, actually -- but there's just _something_ about Oliver. Something Connor really, really likes.

"Just - " Oliver tries to say in between Connor switching from his lips to his neck, his back up against the elevator as it rides up, up, up, "this doesn't really happen. To me."

Connor can practically taste Oliver's pulse quickening on his tongue when his hands slip under his shirt. "Maybe your luck is turning."

Oliver's eyes go dark yet soft, staring at him in the dim light of his hotel room as his fingers make short work of Connor's shirt. "I count cards. I make my own luck."

The sentence sticks with Connor even after Oliver has long since fallen asleep after some of the most mind-blowing sex Connor has ever had -- no one should be _that_ responsive to being eaten out, it ought to be illegal -- and he runs a hand through his hair. Oliver is cute even as he sleeps and possibly drools onto the hotel pillow, making adorable snuffling sounds every so often and Connor has to turn away full stop to stem his rampant staring.

He glances at the clock then grabs his phone, rolling his eyes at a passive aggressive panicky text from Michaela. According to Wes, it's going to be hard to make a big enough diversion to allow Asher and Wes to slip through security and into the back rooms of the casino. They just need Connor's input before they try to work around it.

But then something clicks. Connor pauses in his message back, tapping the top of his phone against his chin and ponders, for the slightest of moments, getting Oliver caught up in this. He's good enough to move big chips if he wants to, and Connor can spin it so it's not _really_ like Oliver would be complying with the demands of a casino heist. Oliver's just that good. Hell, _Connor_ is that good. Asher calls him 'The Spinmeister' for a reason, even though Connor wishes he would stop with that crap.

Connor turns his face and watches the other sleep for a little bit, allowing himself only a brief moment to keep the job at bay and just appreciate the thought that yeah, Oliver really is that good.

His fingers fly on his phone screen, his thumb hits 'send'. He doesn't bother waiting for a response before tossing his phone back on the floor and curling in around Oliver. He knows he isn't going to stay for much longer -- he doesn't _want_ to stay for much longer, honest to Annalise Keating, but for some reason, this feels comfortable and he wants to bask in it for just a little more. For some reason, this feels safe.

Maybe having that along for the ride isn't such a bad thing after all.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic stemmed from a challenge i decided to do using the prompts from the lj comm 64damn_prompts. i plan on going through them all, slowly but surely!
> 
> thx to the best roommate ever for betaing for me, and thank you all for reading!


End file.
